


Growing Pains

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Gore, Kylux Big Bang 2016, M/M, Minor Character Death, Trans Hux, Transphobia, gendered slurs, sex happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Solo and Brendol Hux II have known each other since they were young, meeting as their mothers conduct business with the Senate. They grow together, then apart, each changing and growing in their own ways until fate brings them back together, and the two have to start all over again- or is there anything left worth saving?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the people who were so supportive of me during this, including the last few weeks when things got really rough for me- KnightofHux, Generallyhuxurious, ocktorok, sinfullucifer tastefulsidebirb, cornelius-brexton, and of course, my darling girlfriend Amemait, who helped me crunch timelines and figure out ages and EU events that would work with the TFA timeline.
> 
> Thank you guys ♥ I hope y'all enjoy this.

Art done by my KBB partner, the amazing [ParasiteBeans](http://parasitebeans.tumblr.com/)!

* * *

 

 

Ben Organa Solo is a mess the first time he meets Brendol Hux II.

He is five years old, his thick, wavy black hair a tousled mess. Dirt is under his nails, his brown tunic and pants are covered in dust, there’s grit and sand in the treads of his boots, and there’s a smudge of something black over his nose.

A pale, freckled nose wrinkles as grey-green eyes scrutinise the dirty ruffian, then flick back up at the woman who has introduced them. At ten, Brendol Hux is taller than Ben, but lanky, awkward, still growing into his limbs. The youthful face is showing the beginnings of the teenager he'll slowly grow into.

“Mother, must I?” The plea is in Chandrilan, but Ben is well versed enough in the language to know that his new acquaintance is less than pleased with having to deal with him.

The red-haired woman smiles thinly, placing long-fingered hands on her son’s shoulders. Her pale skin is a stark contrast to the black and red tunic.

“Dear, he is the son of Leia Organa, who I am hoping to become more acquainted with, so do be nice and show her son around the Senate House,” she replies in Chandrilan, her expression the picture perfect balance of sweet and stern.

The ten year old sighs.

“Yes, Mother,” he says dutifully, and Ben can tell from this simple phrase, just how much the older boy loves his mother. This gives him hope- they have something in common.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, smoothing the front of her dress as she smiles, and gracefully, she practically glides away, leaving the gangly, but well groomed ten year old and the dirty five year old to awkwardly stare at each other.

“I’m hungry,” Ben announces cheerfully. “Can we go get a snack?”

The taller boy relaxes visibly, and offers a small smile.

“Yes, we can. I think the kitchens made some tarts this morning. Shall we go look?”

Ben holds out his hand like he’s seen his father do so many times, a wide, toothy grin on his face.

“I’m Ben Solo,” he says brightly. Brendol frowns.

“I know. We’ve already been introduced.”

Ben shakes his head, the stubborn look so typical of a five year old crossing his face.

“Your mom said I was Ben Organa Solo. I’m only called that when I’m with my mom. When it’s just me, I’m Ben Solo!”

His grin widens as he practises the joke his dad had told him- one that made his mother roll her eyes in exasperated amusement- and waits for the older boy to react. The slightest snort escapes him, and he almost smiles, then regains his crisp composure as he motions for Ben to follow him. Ben beams at Brendol before following after him, bouncing and nearly skipping to keep up with his longer strides.

 _He’s a new friend, I can tell,_ Ben thinks to himself with a wide smile. _Mom will be happy._

 

* * *

 

 

Brendol scowls, dripping water on the floor as Ben laughs at him. The seven year old is soaked to the bone, his wavy black hair looking like a soaked mop on his head, his brown tunic and breeches clinging to his scraggly frame. Brendol was a thunderhead personified, his black tunic and pants soaked, his red hair hanging limply around his face, which was darkened by a most furious scowl.

“You’re such a grumpy face, Bren!” Ben laughs, flicking water at his friend. Hux sighs

“We weren’t supposed to fall into the fountain, Ben,” the twelve year old grouses in exasperation. “My mother is going to _kill_ me.”

“Just tell her it’s my fault!” Ben says cheerfully, shaking his head, water flying everywhere.

“It _was_ your fault!” Brendol retorts. “At least the hounds didn’t follow us into the fountain.”

And here he had just planned on having a sparring match with the younger boy, not provoke a Senator’s Kath hounds into chasing them, and knocking them into the centre fountain, soaking them both.

“I told them not to,” Ben says matter-of-factly, pulling his tunic off and wringing it out. Brendol lifts a brow as he squeezes water out of the hem of his own tunic.

“You told them not to,” he repeats sceptically. Ben nods.

“Yep. I can do that now, y’know.”

“Right,” Brendol grunts, humouring his friend. Ben frowns.

“I can! I’m gonna be a Jedi like my uncle Luke! I’m gonna start training next year!” He says, puffing out his chest. Brendol blinks.

“You’re… you can use the Force?”

Ben nods proudly.

“Yep! My uncle is Luke Skywalker, y’know, and I’m gonna be a Jedi like him! My mama can feel the Force- it’s how she knows when I’m sad, even if I try to hide it from her.”

“It’s also how I know you’ve gotten into trouble.”

Both boys whirl around to see Leia and Angelica standing behind them. Leia is amused, a hand on her hip, but Angelica looks less than pleased, her arms folded over her chest. Brendol immediately lowers his head.

“Forgive my state, Mother,” he apologises. “I lost control of the situation. I will take whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

Angelica opens her mouth to speak, when Ben surges forward.

“Please don’t punish him, Lady Hux, it was my fault!” He says pleadingly. “I asked him to spar with me, and I made the Kath hounds all excited so I could win.”

“Ben!” Leia scolds, looking scandalised that her son has caused trouble by using the Force for personal gain. Ben is undeterred.

“It was my fault,” he repeats. “Bren said we shouldn’t spar by the fountain, but I started it there anyway.”

Angelica’s stern face melts into a smile, and she kneels in front of the young boy.

“That was incredibly noble of you, Ben, taking responsibility for what you’d done. Thank you,” she says, reaching out and taking his damp hand, patting the back of it gently. She straightens, then looks at her son.

“You have a good friend, Brendol.”

Brendol looks over at Ben, who smiles widely, a bright, gapped smile from missing baby teeth, his cheeks red and flushed. Brendol smiles back at him.

“Yes, I do.”

* * *

 

 

“How long will he be gone?” Brendol demands. Angelica gives her son a look of sympathy.

“I don’t know, Bren. There’s no telling how long Jedi train.”

“Can I go visit him?” Brendol asks, unwilling to let the subject drop.

“I’m sorry son, but that won’t be possible, not with you starting Academy in a few months. The two of you are going to be very busy for the next few years,” Brendol Hux says as he strides into the room. His son turns around.

“You mean, I was accepted?” He asks breathlessly, not daring to believe it. The Commandant laughs, a short curt sound.

“You expected anything less, my son?” the Commandant says proudly. “Of course you were accepted- and not because you are my son, but because your marks were perfect.”

Bren flushes with pride, puffing out his chest a bit.

“I want to make you proud, Father.”

Commandant Hux claps a large hand on his shoulder.

“You will, son. You already do. I know you’ll miss your friend, but Academy is going to require all your attention. If I can manage it, we will try to arrange for you and Ben to see each other in the future. A Senator’s son, a future officer, friends with a Jedi in training.”

His voice lowers.

“You are going to be a key factor in the revival of our way of life, Bren. You’re more important than you realise. The future of the First Order.”

Bren squares his shoulders.

“I will do you and the Order proud. One day, I will carry your legacy into the halls of the Imperial Palace and bring order back, and put a stop to the endless stagnation of the Senate.”

Commandant Brendol Hux Sr smiles at his son.

“You’ll do more than that, son. I just know it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“BX-4285.”

“Sir,” Bren replies, snapping to attention as the officer hails him.

“As you were, Cadet,” the Captain says. “The Commandant wants you in his office immediately. Dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bren acknowledges, saluting and making off at a quick trot for his father’s offices.

He wonders what his father was calling him for. There had been no tests, no exams or trials lately, so there was nothing to congratulate or reprimand him on. He wasn’t due to graduate for another six months, so there was nothing to go over in that regard, either. His heart lifts- maybe his mother was here to visit. The thought of seeing his mother after nearly a year has his pace quickening as he darts towards his destination.

He stops in front of the door and smooths his hair and uniform before knocking. The door opens silently, and Bren steps inside. He comes to a halt as a figure in black turns to look at him. The Commandant beckons his son over.

“We have an important guest, Cadet,” he says formally. “BX-4285, this is Kylo Ren, apprentice to Snoke, the Order’s newest ally.”

Bren glances at the figure- a boy, possibly his age, or younger, but much taller than himself. He’s dressed in black robes and a hooded cowl, his face barely visible. He’s lanky, his posture speaking measures of someone who had hit a growth spurt recently, and was still getting used to the new movement and length of his limbs. Bren bows his head. He knew of Snoke- the enigmatic Force user, not quite a Sith, but something… more, different.

“He is here to become acquainted with the military side of the Order, and to be socialised with the future officers of the ranks. I am assigning him to you, Cadet, to show him around,” the Commandant announces, handing him a datapad. “He is to be addressed as Lord Ren, Cadet. I have a list of things and people he is to see and meet, as well as the location of his quarters, all here.”

Bren nods, and bows a bit more deeply to Ren.

“My Lord. I welcome you to the Academy. It is my honour to show you the facilities and grounds,” he says, but he is unsure as to why he was being tasked with this. Surely one of the officers would do a better job of this?

“I wish to be shown to my quarters,” the young man says, his voice gravelly, rustic, almost as though he hadn’t spoken in years- or had screamed to the point of vocal collapse somewhere in the past.

“Of course, my Lord,” Bren replies, looking to his father for dismissal.

“Dismissed,” comes the reply. “You are also excused from classes and training for two days while you show Lord Ren around the Academy.”

Bren barely has time to reply as the black-clad figure sweeps from the room. He shoots his father a glance before hurrying after him.

“Your quarters are this way, my Lord,” he says as he catches up to Ren and points in the direction of the officers’ barracks- with no small amount of envy. Ren simply grunts and changes his course. Bren keys up the room number, and is surprised to see he’d been given the Emissary’s quarters- and that Bren was to stay in the adjoining room for the duration of his visit.

“Ah. It looks like we’ll be room mates for the duration of your stay, my Lord. I will be in the guest room, presumably to save time.”

Ren makes no reply as they enter the quarters. Bren looks around for personal effects, but there are none to be seen.

“Do you have any luggage that will be delivered, my Lord?” Bren asks. Ren grunts.

“No. I have all that I need,” he says simply, pulling a small pack from under his cloak. He turns on his heel and heads through the foyer towards the bigger bedroom.

“I am going to meditate. I do not wish to be disturbed until dinner,” he says before shutting the door.

Bren simply blinks, trying to figure out why his voice seems so familiar.

 

* * *

 

 

Bren knocks on the door to Ren’s room that evening.

“Lord Ren? Dinner is here,” he says.

The door opens, and the hooded youth comes out to inspect the cart that’s been wheeled in. He pokes and prods at the various trays and covered dishes before selecting things he likes and moves to sit on the couch in the main room. With gusto, and not much polish, the Supreme Leader’s apprentice starts devouring his dinner in silence. Bren selects his own dinner and after a moment of hesitation, sits on the other couch to eat with his new companion.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” He asks. He gets a grunt in response.

The silence fills the air, only broken by the sound of Ren’s fork scraping his plate. After nearly five minutes of tense quiet, Ren picks up his glass and takes a long drink from it- and his hood falls back. Bren gapes as for the first time in seven years, he looks into the face of his friend, Ben Solo.

“Ben?” He manages. Brown eyes flash angrily at him, and the youth pulls his hood back down.

“My name is Kylo Ren,” he says simply, picking up the rest of his dinner and storming into his room, leaving Brendol to stare after him in shock.

* * *

 

Brendol has no idea how to deal with the possibility that his friend is the sullen, cloaked young man working for Supreme Leader Snoke. He leads him from place to place, sitting with him in the back during classes, taking his meals with him in their shared quarters. All the while, his companion barely speaks, save for grunts of acknowledgement.

Brendol has no idea what to do- he _knows_ that the young boy under the hood is his friend. He _knows_ it! Yet, “Lord Ren,” will not answer anything but direct yes or no questions, and avoids and dodges inquiries about his personal history as easily as a greased loth-cat.

It is on his way back to his temporary quarters one night, lost in thought about the situation, when Brendol is jumped by his rival, Larson Gilbore, and his brothers, Regan and Emmet.

“Hux.”

Brendol stops, blinking as his name is called. He turns, and sees the three standing behind him in the corridor. Larson is in the middle, his brothers flanking him. Larson is in Brendol’s age group, Regan being a year younger, and Emmet two years younger. The three all sport the same pale dirty blond hair that makes Brendol think of overused dishwater, and the same grey-hazel eyes. Larson is done with growing, towering over Brendol- who is five seven, still growing- at six feet. Regan and Emmet aren’t far behind at respective heights of five-eleven and five-nine. They all outweigh him, as well.

None of the three brothers are very fond of the Commandant’s son. Brendol swallows.

“Gilbore,” he answers smoothly, his voice showing nothing of his sudden flush of nerves. He curls his gloved hands into fists, his thumbs deftly pulling the slim knives out of the hidden in-seam pockets of his sleeves.

“Seems you’ve missed training the past week,” Gilbore sneers, his voice curling with a grotesque mix of the Imperial accent that all students strove to emulate and acquire, and the remnants of whatever Outer Rim group his family came from.

“I have been attending to an assignment,” Brendol replies coolly.

“So we saw,” Regan replies, his voice oily. “You doin’ your exercises? You’re lookin’ a mite soft, Hux.”

“Or is that hooded freak a new pet bodyguard, Elizabeth?” Emmet jeers, a wide toothy grin on his doughy face- baby fat still clinging to his frame for one last growth spurt.

Brendol doesn’t even flinch at the name, but his stomach feels as though he’s been punched by a Rancor. It never gets easier hearing them use that name as a weapon.

“It’s classified, and on a need-to-know basis,” he retorts, taking the tone he’s heard his father use so soften. Sadly, it lacks the same presence, his voice not nearly as deep or experienced as the Commandant’s.

“You do not warrant the privilege, nor the clearance of needing to know,” he finishes, his voice lowering to a silky tone, his eyes narrowing. If the tone is supposed to intimidate them, it fails. The other boys laugh, and begin advancing on him.

“We don’t care about that freak,” Larson sneers. “Only that he isn’t here, and he’s kept you off your game for two weeks now. Maybe it’s time someone else took your spot, showed dear old Dad who is _really_ a worthy Cadet, and not just some cunt in breeches with the Commandant’s name.”

Brendol feels his back his the wall, and his heart pounds, feeling the stab of Larson’s words. Always down to the incident of his birth, a slip of tongue from a now fired- and possibly dead- medical staff that had his classmates knowing about his secret. Most didn’t care- Brendol was hardly the only trans Cadet in the Academy- but it was just one more way for people like the Gilbores to try to convince others- and themselves- that Brendol didn’t deserve his status.

“Always down to what might be between my legs,” he snaps back. “One might think you wanted me, with how oft you comment on it, Gilbore. Is that the only way you feel comfortable admitting you like men, by telling yourself it doesn’t count if he doesn’t have a cock?”

Brendol narrows his eyes. He knows he should shut his mouth, that he should press his commlink, get assistance, or use some diversionary tactic to escape, but he isn’t able to stop the words streaming from his lips, the result of years of bullying coming to a head.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But it only works for me if you had a cock, too- or balls.”

Rage flickers across Larson’s face, and without warning, the larger boy seizes Brendol’s throat with his broad hands. Thumbs press into his windpipe, and fingers squeeze tightly, aiming to choke the life from the shorter, thinner Cadet. Behind them came the hoots of encouragement from Regan and Emmet.

“You think being the Commandant’s kid will help you? You think being Daddy’s little girl, pretending to be a big boy will keep anyone from caring about you? I think I’m doing your dad a favour, getting rid of you,” Larson sneers, his foetid breath washing over Brendol’s reddening face.

“No one is gonna save you, and no one is gonna care you’re dead- except me, because you’ll finally be out of the way.”

There’s a flash of silver, and the wet sound of ripping flesh. Larson’s eyes go wide, his mouth gaping, and his hands slowly loosen their grip on Brendol’s neck as he tumbles backwards. Brendol gasps for air as quietly, calmly as he can, as Larson moves his hands to his own neck, eyes fixated on his foe. Behind him, his brothers have gone quiet, unsure why Larson’s backing away from his quarry.

The blood is gushing now, from the two slashes on either side of Larson’s neck. His meaty hands are trying to stop the gouts of blood that is now slipping around his thick fingers, staining his skin, soaking his uniform. Brendol’s eyes glitter, his chest heaving as he watches his assailant panic. The knives in his hands are glinting, coated red with Larson’s blood, and his face, his uniform, is splattered with it.

Larson tumbles, falls, and is still, trying to roll to keep the blood out of his windpipe, but Brendol has sliced both sides from side to front, and has sliced his carotid artery. There is no position to save him. It takes his brothers only a glance to know their brother is gone as a gurgle issues from the rent throat, bubbling in the puddle of blood that is steadily growing over the smooth permacrete cobbles.

They turn and stare at Brendol Hux II, their eyes taking in the sight of the bloodied young man with bruises rapidly rising on his neck, blood splattered over his face, soaking his uniform- and the deadly calm expression of focus. Their former prey has become a threat, a predator, and is cornered, with fangs bared.

Anger over their brother’s blood spilled, however, wins over reason, and with their faces screwed up in rage, cries of grief and the demand for blood issuing from their throats, the two brothers lunge at the Commandant’s son.

They make it two steps, when flashes of red, crackling light cut over their backs, sending them falling to the ground. A black hooded figure stands behind them, a jagged, crackling lightsaber extended, casting a red light over them, over the blood of their brother, and over Brendol.

“Cowards,” he sneers. “Act like animals, and be cut down like them.”

There’s no response. The two are dead, the wounds inflicted from the crackling weapon still smoking in their flesh and uniforms, the burn cutting deep and across their spines. Lord Ren looks over his work, then with a small grunt of satisfaction, he shuts off his weapon and hooks it back on the belt hidden under his cloak. He then turns on his heel and strides back to his quarters.

“You may want to follow,” he calls over his shoulder.

Brendol is only still for a moment longer before he shakily stumbles after him. He flicks the blood from his knives and slips them back into his sleeves as he catches up with Ren.

“Thank you,” he manages quietly. Ren simply grunts again, and is silent until they get back into their quarters.

“You’re an idiot,” Ren says softly, pushing back his hood. Brendol stares at him. If it’s truly Ben, he’s fourteen, still a child, but the eyes staring at him are ageless and world-weary.

“There was three of them, and you opened your mouth like an idiot,” Ren continues, scowling at him. “Did you think you could take on all three of them by yourself?”

“I had it under control!” Brendol snaps, coming to his senses. “I would have been fine!”

Ren snorts.

“You would have been hurt. Do you even know why I’m here, Brendol?”

Brendol blinks.

“I thought it was to be introduced to the military affairs of the First Order,” he replies.

“Halfway right. The other half is training my skills in sensing the motives of others,” Ren says, flopping down onto the couch, taking off his gloves and snatching a leftover biscuit from the table, shoving nearly the whole thing in his mouth. Brendol watches him, waiting for him to finish.

“The other half is protecting you,” Ren finally says after polishing off the biscuit ravenously, licking crumbs from his fingers. Brendol blinks again.

“Protecting me?”

“Protecting you,” Ren repeats. “The Supreme Leader says you will be a figurehead for the Order one day, and that the last year of Academy is a turning point when Cadets stop dancing around rivalries and start attacking each other.”

He shrugs as he picks up another biscuit, ripping it in half and shoving one of the halves in his mouth. He motions with a hand.

“M’hungry,” he says, his mouth full.

_You might want to change out of that bloody uniform._

Brendol blanches, hearing Ren’s voice in his head. It doesn’t take him long- only a few seconds- to realise the boy is using the Force to talk to him through his thoughts. He notices how dirty he is for the first time, and suppressing a groan at the fact that he’s going to need a new set, he retreats into his room for a shower and fresh clothes.

When he comes back into the main room, Ren has demolished the tray of biscuits and is chugging a large glass of milk. There’s two biscuits left on a plate, however, and Brendol can only assume they’re for him. Brendol sits down and picks at one, nibbling it- he’s not feeling particularly hungry, but he had been shaking in the shower, and he knows he’s in a mild state of shock, and could use the food. Ren eyes him.

“The Master of the Knights of Ren is assigned to protect your father, just like I’m assigned to protect you,” he says. “And you’re stupid, taking on three people like that.”

“You… you heard what they said, you saw what he was doing,” Brendol says softly, his hand moving to the bruises on his throat. At least, he assumes Ren heard what Larson had said.

“What, about you being trans?” Ren scoffs. “Weak excuse, full of pointless hate. A cover up for jealousy over your skills and position being better than his.”

Brendol is relieved as Ren doesn’t make a big deal about his gender, and he takes a bigger bite of the biscuit. Ren polishes off his milk and sets the glass down, pouring more out.

“I knew, by the way,” he says softly. “Since the day we met. Never mattered to me.”

Brendol looks up, eyes wide.

“Ben?”

A flinch.

“Brendol…. Please don’t call me that,” he says, his voice thick with something Brendol can’t place. “Please. It’s Kylo, now.”

“I thought you were going to be a Jedi, B- Kylo,” Brendol says quietly. “What happened?”

“It didn’t work, okay?” Kylo snaps, getting to his feet. “I was… it just… It didn’t work. I couldn’t… It doesn’t matter. This is where I was meant to be.”

He leaves the room, taking his glass with him, and slams his door behind him.

* * *

 

 

The Academy is quiet the week after, and no one bothers Brendol ever again. His path to graduation is clear.

Brendol still sees blood on his hands, and wonders how- and when- he’ll be able to cope with it.

Kylo leaves the week before graduation, his job done.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendol kneels beside his mother as she cradles the body of Commandant Brendol Hux Sr in her arms, a wailing keen escaping her throat as she grieves the loss of her husband. He clutches her tightly, burying his face in her hair, which smells of her shampoo, and his father’s cologne from where he had embraced her just before the ceremony.

His white uniform is soaked with blood, and all he can think about is how Ben- Kylo- had said the Master of the Knights of Ren was assigned to protect his father. All he can think is how that Master was nowhere to be seen, and had failed to stop the assassin that had killed his father in a gory mess with a single shot from a sniper rifle. All he can think now is that he can’t rely on anyone to protect him, that he has to protect himself. Himself and his mother, the only person he has left. Ben is gone, the First Order has been cast to the edges of the galaxy, homeless and alone, and everywhere around him is now suspect.

The blood he kept seeing on his hands is no longer bothering him.

All he can think about is how much blood he will shed to avenge his father’s death.

* * *

 

 

“You have ascended the ranks quickly, young General,” the monstrous being says, his voice soothing, but dark and powerful. “You have done well for the First Order.”

Hux stands at attention, his back stiff and his head held high. His General’s uniform is less than a few hours old, still crisp and smelling new. His greatcoat is heavy on his shoulders, his shining boots tight around his calves, and his tunic is smoothed to perfection.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader,” Hux says.

He is finally grown, standing at six-one, grown out into his frame- still lean, still soft in the midsection- but long of limb and broad of shoulder. His voice is finally deep, full of command and presence he long practised so that he might emulate that of his father’s. His hair is groomed perfectly, his face clean shaven- a stark difference of that of his father’s neatly, closely cropped beard.

He is taking the promotion with grace, just the right amount of pride and humility, bowing his head when necessary, holding it high otherwise. Despite his appearance, his attention is on the man standing silently beside the Supreme Leader’s throne. He’s tall- even taller than Hux at six-three- and is even broader of shoulder. He is draped in black, cowled, and wearing a mask of black and silver. His stance is that of a predator in repose.

“You will be hereby placed in charge of the Finaliser upon its completion, and from there, begin the search for the perfect location for the weapon,” Snoke says, almost looking at Hux like a doting grandfather. Hux bowed again.

“You honour me, Supreme Leader. I will not fail you.”

* * *

 

 

Hux hates Kylo Ren.

He knows it’s Ben beneath the mask. He knows it’s the same boy who pushed them both into a fountain when they were younger, the same boy whose mother was friends with his own. He knows the goofy, gangly kid he once laughed with was the same creature that now tore up his ship like a child.

He still can’t bring himself to forgive him, or the Knights of Ren, and their absent Master- the one who failed to protect his father. He can’t forgive Kylo for leaving before his graduation, for failing to be there when his father was killed.

He can’t stand the temper tantrums, the selfishness, the self serving attitude that counters the unity of the First Order. He can’t stand the posturing, the arrogance, the brash behaviour, the stress he causes for his crew.

He hates the way he undermines his authority, the way he questions methods that have worked before the Supreme Leader had become their benefactor. He hates the arrogance with which Ren carries himself, the stride of his long legs that carries him across the Finaliser like a tyrant.

He hates how Ren assumes he has more power, that he is more important than the General who has fought for everything he now has. He hates how Ren dismisses him, mocks him, makes him freeze during his impassioned rants with a singular disinterested word or short phrase.

Hux hates how Ren is a stray tool slowly working its way into the war machine he has so meticulously built, where it can do so much damage.

Hux can’t stand the creature that had once been his best friend, and wishes he would leave his life forever.

* * *

 

Hux hates Ren.

Hux hates the way Ren lingers at his elbow, how he has no sense of personal space. How he now finds excuses to be around him, invading his privacy, his liberty, showing up when he’s unwanted. He hates how his one sanctuary outside his quarters, the officers’ lounge, is now haunted by the looming shadow.

He hates how Ren constantly challenges him to sparring in the training room. He hates how Ren always manages to pin him to the floor, straddling his hips, hands on his shoulders, face mere inches from his own as he grins ferally at him like vornskr. Hux hates the scent of Ren’s sweat, his soap, the lingering smell of leather and metal and ozone that clings to the taller man- the scent that later clings to Hux, he realises, when he sheds his clothes later in the evening. Even when in his quarters, the very scent of the man follows him into his personal space.

Hux hates how he can feel Ren’s eyes on him when he does his stretches, the tracing of his gaze over the curves of his muscles, the line of his spine, the planes of his back. He swears he can feel the Knight counting the freckles visible from under the sleeveless tank he wears while exercising.

Hux hates the constant sense of Ren being around him, trying to best him, outrank him, and challenges him to another sparring match. The two are evenly matched- until Hux plays dirty, and knocks Ren onto the mat, along with the wind out of his lungs.

Hux hates Ren, because even then, straddling Ren’s hips, gloating in victory, the triumph is short lived. He can feel the quickening of Ren’s pulse under his hands where he grips Ren’s throat. He can see the dilation of his pupils, the parting of his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them, his throat working furiously as he swallows. Hux hates how he can see, can feel the tension of Ren’s muscles under him- and the hardening of his cock against his groin.

 

* * *

 

Hux hates Kylo.

He completely and utterly hates him for teasing, for touching without real pressure, for ghosting touches over his body with the Force, all the while standing at the end of the bed with that _stupid smile_ on his _stupid face_ as Hux writhes on the bed, begging to be touched, to be fucked.

He hates Kylo as he straddles his hips and grinds his cock against his cunt, teasing still, running his tight balls over Hux’s slick, hungry folds, then nudging the swollen head of his cock against Hux’s. He hates him as fingers play with silver barbells in his nipples, brushing, flicking over them, sparks of lightning jolting him with exquisite pleasure and pain.

Hux moderately hates Kylo making him scream his name as the Knight shoves his cock into him, impaling himself to the hilt. He expresses his hate through teeth in Kylo’s shoulder, with nails in his back, with curses spat between teeth, Kylo’s name woven between them.

Hux finds, however, he doesn’t hate him quite so much, as his body shudders and convulses, his vision going dark for a few seconds as his body falls apart with his orgasm. He doesn’t hate Kylo so much as the Knight suckles dark marks on his clavicle and neck, murmuring his name like a desperate prayer, shaking as he comes into Hux’s cunt.

Hux doesn’t hate Kylo as the Knight passes out beside him, purring his name in his sleep, nuzzling into his hair as he spoons him from behind, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers splaying over Hux’s soft stomach possessively. He doesn’t hate him as he falls asleep, feeling safe and content for the first time in a decade, wrapped in strong, warm arms, with a stronger heartbeat against his back and warmer breath stirring his sweat-damp hair.

 

* * *

 

Hux hates Kylo.

He spits his name like a curse as he directs the shuttle towards the signal of his tracker. He hates Kylo for being out in the woods as the planet- the weapon, his life’s work- crumbles and collapses around them. He hates Kylo for being stupid, reckless, and so singularly obsessed with a single girl. He hates him for risking himself for nothing.

Kylo is lying in the snow, utterly still.

Hux’s heart stops, and his hate goes as cold as the snow, turning to fear.

The troopers don’t have time to react as their General leaps from the shuttle and makes a mad dash to the fallen Knight. Arms wrap around the prone man, removing leather gloves and gently checking for a pulse, pushing hair from the wounded face.

 _Don’t leave me,_ Hux manages as he feels the pulse, faint and erratic. _You left me once. I swear I will find Luke Skywalker myself to bring you back to life so I can kill you if you leave me again!_

Kylo stirs, and his eyes crack open, brown glinting at Hux with surprise.

_You came back for me?_

Hux runs a hand over the uninjured side of Kylo’s face, the bare fingers biting with pain in the frigid cold, but he can’t stop stroking the Knight’s cheek.

 _I came back for you, Kylo,_ Hux replies, kissing him, the troopers behind him forgotten. As they both close their eyes, Kylo in a state of shock, Hux overwhelmed with relief, Hux realises that yes, Ben Organa Solo is gone. He’s been gone. The only one there before him is Kylo Ren.

That’s okay, though, he thinks, moving to gently assist the troopers in carrying the now unconscious Knight of Ren onto the shuttle. The troopers look the other way as Kylo is laid over some of the seats, his head resting in the General’s lap. They ignore the way Hux takes off his other glove and runs fingers through snow flecked raven hair. They don’t comment on the look of relief on his face, or the way his hands tremble. They knew- they’d placed bets on it, and there would be one hell of a sabbac pot to collect on. Phasma would be collecting most of the pot, however, given the wager she’d made.

Hux doesn’t care.

He says goodbye to Ben Solo, knowing that boy he’d cherished as a friend had finally died on the snow covered surface of their dying weapon. He hopes that Ben Organa Solo will find peace with his father- Hux knows. He saw the look on Kylo’s face when he came to. Hux saw that face, that expression for months after the death of his own father. He doesn’t need the Force to know that Kylo Ren killed Han Solo and Ben Organa with a single action.

The shuttle leaves the dying planet, their failure shrinking below them as they retreat. A retreat that Hux never would have made, had it not been for the man resting his head in his lap. A man he’s known since he was younger, and as an entirely different person. The gangly, scruffy and smiling Ben Solo is gone, but, so is the skinny, proper young preteen Bren Hux. The boys are dead and gone, leaving Kylo Ren and General Brendol Hux II in their places-

-and General Brendol Hux II leans over the unconscious Kylo Ren, pressing his lips to the clammy forehead of the man he’s known for so long in many forms.

Hux loves Kylo.


End file.
